“Really? It’s that simple?”
“Simple? When you tell them you have weapons in your checked luggage, they mark the bag. Anyone in baggage handling can spot those bags. Guns bring a good price on the streets.”
“Gees, then why mark the bags? Isn’t that just asking for them to be stolen?”
“Yeah, but they’ll tell you they need the bags marked so fireman or rescue personnel can spot dangerous items. This is at the same time they tell you that flying is the safest way to travel. That there are fewer accidents in flying than any other form of transportation.”
“Then it doesn’t make a lot of sense to say that they have to know where hazardous materials are.”
“Exactly. If I were more paranoid, I’d think it’s some form of organized effort to identify people who carry weapons. It wasn’t a big deal when they didn’t ask for ID to board a plane, but now you can’t just buy a cash ticket and get on a flight. You have to provide identification. It wouldn’t take much for the government to identify everyone in the country who had carried firearms on a flight and where they had gone. Once you are identified a computer program could just as easily track all of your movement from then on.”
“But what would be the purpose?”
“Purpose? Hell, who can ever follow the government’s purpose in anything? Besides, I’m not saying they do track honest citizen’s movements. I’m just saying that it’s possible and if I was more paranoid, then I’d think they were doing it.”
“Are you trying to give me the impression that you’re understandably paranoid?” Caitlin asked.
They reached the main terminal and crossed into the building.
“Yeah, I guess so. Look, while we’re in here, I want you to try to ignore what’s been happening. Relax, make cheerful noises, tell me a few old jokes, and above all don’t give the impression that you’re looking around as if searching for cops.”
“Don’t look for them or don’t give that impression?”
“Don’t give the impression. If you want to look around, look at the building, the advertisements, the strange people. Act like a tourist, but maintain the patter, the smiles, the chuckles.”
“What’s that get me?”
“If you were looking for someone on the run would you expect them to be carrying on as if they’re on vacation?”
Caitlin gave his question a moment’s thought and shook her head. “No, I don’t guess I would.”
“Right and neither would anyone else. Most fugitives look the part. That’s what a watcher will be looking for.”
John indicated a row of chairs near the overhead monitors that announced arrivals and departures. “Here, let’s sit down over here for a minute.”
They set the bags down, and John took some folded papers from a jacket pocket. He looked at them for a moment, then handed them to Caitlin, and pointed at a line.
Confused, she looked at where he was pointing. It was the menu from the restaurant where they’d met Squeeze.
“It just gives us something to look at and look like tourists. There’s our flight number. It’s on time. We’ve got about an hour. I haven’t spotted any obvious watchers, but that doesn’t mean anything. They could have passed photos out to all the ticket counters.”
“But didn’t Felipe say the warrants were only on the police lines?” Caitlin asked.
“Yeah, but that wouldn’t stop them from passing out photos at all the airports and bus terminals and such. They aren’t as likely to have their own agents out here. There are just too many airports and too many travelers for anything less than a small army to cover. They’d have to stake out the San Francisco, San Jose, and even Sacramento airports too. They’re all easy to reach from the Bay Area.”
“I guess it’s not something I’d ever given any thought.”
“There was no reason to. That’s one of the reasons most criminals get caught. They never give it any thought either. Come on, let’s check these bags, and move past security. We can wait in one of the lounges.”
They carried their bags to the West Pac desk, waited a few minutes in line and then John stepped to the desk and identified them. Caitlin stood behind John and placed her left hand lightly on his shoulder, while the attendant checked their reservations. Caitlin noticed that the short hairs at the back of John’s neck formed silver dollar sized whorls. She tickled the short hairs lightly.
The attendant asked for their identification, and they each produced their new driver’s license and handed them across the counter. The man took a careful look at each picture and went back to his computer screen. As he printed out the tickets, Caitlin returned the license to her bag and then wrapped both her arms around John’s right arm and rested her cheek against his shoulder.
“Are these your only bags?”
“Yes, that’s all,” John said.
He gave them the normal routine of questioning that determined they hadn’t allowed some stranger in a turban and carrying a bomb to help pack their bags, then finished the check-in and passed John the tickets. Caitlin thanked him politely and continued to hold John’s arm as they walked toward the security check in.
As they stepped onto the escalator, Caitlin dropped her hand down to hold his. “I thought you were going to declare that you had a firearm.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Why, your speech about how they can track people carrying firearms and all that. What happens if they have one of the newer model detectors in the luggage area?”
“The case I put the gun in is special. It has
